


my world will stop spinning (and that's just the beginning)

by space



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-06
Updated: 2012-03-06
Packaged: 2017-11-01 14:13:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/357738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/space/pseuds/space
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Steve has proven time and again he'll do anything for the well-being of his friends. This time is no different. But how far is he willing to go when the end result is for himself?</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	my world will stop spinning (and that's just the beginning)

**Author's Note:**

> **WARNING:** Dub-con oral sex.  PLEASE NOTE PAIRINGS. Spoilers for 2.13, _Ka Ho' Oponopono_ ep tag.
> 
> A/N: I don't usually write from Steve's POV, but this one begged me. Originally a short PWP Adam/Steve comment fic (in which I *hated* the ending), this one had some definite undertones that plagued at me until I tackled them. It still may not make a lot of sense, but it is what it is.
> 
> Many many thanks to tempertemper, finduilas_clln and tailoredshirt for the awesome beta-skills and feedback, not to mention many man-hours of cheerleading. BECAUSE INSECURE AUTHOR IS INSECURE. *massive hugs*
> 
> Title from _Not Like the Movies_ by Katy Perry, which along with _Part of Me_ were on repeat while writing this.

[ ](http://s245.photobucket.com/albums/gg63/spacekid77/?action=view&current=myworld-txt.png)

  


  
**.:. my world will stop spinning (and that's just the beginning) .:.**   


 

The sound of a zipper being lowered rings louder in the room than it has any right to. On the other side of the opulent living area, Steve can hear Joe struggling against the bonds of the chair. At least they've gagged him, so now he can't keep yelling at Steve, telling him he doesn't have to do this.

Steve has to do this. There's no other choice.

(The niggling part of his brain that spoke up the first time he ever laid eyes on Adam tries once again to convince him that maybe, just maybe, he  _wants_  to. Regardless of the sins of their fathers.)

"You can pretend your partner is here, if that helps." And Steve feels something burning just below the surface, just before he grabs Adam's hips and slams him hard against the wall, hard body pressing into hard body. Steve sees one of Noshimuri's goons moving out of the corner of his eye, but Adam just waves him off. 

And then he fucking smiles at Steve.

Jaw clenched, Steve grips his hips harder before pulling back far enough to get his hands inside Adam's pants, pushing them down and out of the way along with his briefs. "Nothing here he needs to see," he grits out before dropping to his knees and swallowing Adam's cock whole.

"Fuck!" It's no surprise that Adam grabs Steve's head and immediately starts fucking his face. Steve wasn't expecting anything less, no social niceties lend themselves to this situation. He relaxes his throat and takes Adam fully. And when he pulls Steve's head back, Steve gets his tongue in on the action, swirling around the crown and thrusting into the leaking slit.

And then Adam's talking and pushing back in deep. "Fuck yeah, such a good cocksucker, McGarrett. Knew you would be." His fingers tighten in Steve's hair. "Make this last, Steve. Not too fast. Fuck."

And Steve can't help it, he looks up and thinks that under any other circumstances, this man would be fucking beautiful, Steve would be so fucking hard in his own pants that the slightest touch would have him coming undone. He moans when Adam's eyes open and find him looking.

And Steve sucks in hard when Adam pulls him back once more. He grabs the base of Adam's cock and starts pumping furiously, his fist sliding up to meet his own lips. When he twists his head on the upstroke, so that his tongue, hell, his entire mouth focuses on the crown of Adam's dick, Adam's eyes clench shut and his head slams into the wall behind him. "Fuck. Fuck, Steve. I'm..."

And Steve appreciates the warning, he really fucking does. He pulls off and Adam's come spills down the front of Steve's tac vest.

\---

"Steve..."

"Don't. Joe. Just... don't."

Steve pays no attention to the flashing lights of the city passing by as he drives, the road in front of them a blur of black-gray eaten by his truck's headlights. Instead, he sees the images flashing through his head - shiny, black SUVs filled with suits and guns, a young girl dead way before her time, a man falling to his death from the end of Steve's arm; he can feel the ache in his jaw, hear the grunts and moans of Noshimuri, can still taste him on his tongue.

Joe clears his throat. "You realize you just started a war with the Yakuza."

Steve wants to laugh, but nothing about this situation is remotely funny. "No, Joe, you did that when you grabbed Hiro Noshimuri. They think you killed him."

"Well, I didn't kill him... I helped him fake his death."

And that. Fuck it all, if that's not the icing on the fucking shitty cake that has been this day. Next thing Steve knows, he's slamming on the brakes and his mind is... God damn it all, but he will have some fucking answers. He deserves that much.

But evidently Joe doesn't think so.

Steve can't believe he walked away. Got out of the truck and fucking walked away without so much as a...

"Fuck!" Steve slams his fist against the steering wheel, the dash, and fuck Joe, fuck him and fuck Shelbourne and fuck Adam Noshimuri. And fuck Chevy for not giving him any decent flat spot to satisfyingly pummel the shit out of.

Just.

Fuck.

He rests his head against his gloved hands for a moment before slamming the gear shift into drive and peeling out.

\---

He doesn't know how long he's driving on autopilot, aimlessly, with no true direction. When he comes to and looks around, he realizes he's just a few turns from home. It's late, so he guesses that's a good thing.

When he pulls in, he doesn't expect Danny's car to be in the drive though. Danny had Grace for a few hours earlier, a mid-week visit. He'd told his partner he'd see him tomorrow.

But he's here now. And Steve can't decide if that's a good thing or not.

He sits in his truck for a few minutes, listening to the ticking of the cooling engine and the night sounds outside his window. Part of him wants to re-start the engine and take off again. Part of him wants to slip around back, strip down, and lose himself in shifting darkness and tumbling ocean waves.

He looks up and sees Danny leaning against the door frame, hands in his pockets. The warm yellow glow from inside the house tracks across the porch, into the yard, fingers of light reaching toward him.

Steve takes a deep breath, steels himself, and gets out of the truck. As he approaches Danny, he can feel his partner's eyes on him. He doesn't return the favor.

"Decked out in black again, I see. Should I be concerned?" Danny's tone is light, right up until Steve makes it fully into that warm glow. "What the hell?"

And Steve makes himself look at Danny's wide eyes, how they're aimed directly at his chest. Looks down to see that he's still wearing his tac vest. Still wearing Adam Noshimuri's jizz all down the front.

"'S'nothin'. Go home, D," Steve manages to answer as he pushes past Danny into the house. He rips at the sides of his vest as he's walking toward the kitchen, his shoulders shrugging to try to get it off. But something's stuck, a strap or, fuck he doesn't know, but Steve can feel the frustration building, feel the anger coming back full force. He tears at the vest until it finally gives way and then he throws it against the wall. "Fuck!"

He grabs the nearest thing he can get his hands on, a dining room chair, and God, he really wants to throw the damn thing across the room, through the windows, fucking destroy everything in this house, in this world, in his life.

He doesn't deserve any of it.

He grunts under the weight of his fraying self-control, his eyes squeezed tight, the muscles in his arms and shoulders bunched and thrumming as he grips the chair back and tells himself not to do it. Not to lose it. Not to fuck everything up again.

"Steve?"

He should have known Danny wouldn't listen to him. "Go home, Danny." Steve vaguely hears the wood underneath his hands creaking - it sounds miles and miles away.

"Not gonna happen."

Steve picks up the chair only to slam it right back down and shove it hard against the table. "Fuck you then!" he yells, clenching his fists. Danny really needs to go. He needs to go right now.

"You come in dressed like a ninja, more pissed off than I've ever seen you - which is saying a lot - not to mention the questionable stains on your person. You really think I'm leaving here without some answers, Steven?" Steve can tell Danny's trying hard for incredulous, but there's mostly strain there. A soupcon of disappointment.

Hell, Steve deserves that. More than that.

What he doesn't deserve is a friend like Danny. He feels a few inches of the fight slip out of him. "Joe was taken by Adam Noshimuri. I had to go get him back."

Steve still hasn't turned to look at his partner, but can feel Danny move closer, can hear his concern. "Joe okay?"

Steve runs a hand down his face and crosses his arms, looking out the windows to the darkness of the back yard, the familiar shadows of trees, the blackness of the ocean beyond. He takes a deep breath. "When he left me, he was fine."

_When he left me._

They always leave.

Steve does his best to cover the involuntary flinch of his body when Danny's hand rests on his shoulder. He figures his partner notices anyway, but Danny doesn't step away. "What happened, Steve?"

Steve shakes his head and looks down at his boots. "Joe helped Hiro Noshimuri fake his death."

"What?! Why?" And it'd be funny that Danny's reaction is practically verbatim, both in word and veracity, as Steve's own had been; except there's not much humor to be found in any of what's come to light tonight. And especially not in what's still hidden away.

"I don't know."

"What-"

"I don't know, Danny! Okay?!" Steve's practically yelling again now, feeling the betrayal of Joe all over again. "Joe won't fucking talk to me! I was _tortured_ for Shelbourne, Jenna fucking _died_ , but I'm not good enough to know what the fuck is going on!"

And suddenly Steve feels like he's going to suffocate if he stays in this house full of memories and ghosts and unanswered questions any longer. He heads out back to the lanai, breathing deep of the familiar scents on the nighttime air, letting the crash of the waves in the distance ring loud in his ears.

Still not loud enough to drown out everything else though.

He strips off his boots and socks with practiced efficiency and makes his way across the grass to the sand beyond.

\---

A few minutes later, Danny comes out to stand beside him and hands him a beer.

Steve takes it with a nod, eyes never leaving the ocean, then moves to sit in one of the low-slung wooden chairs.

Danny follows suit and they sit for several minutes in silence, save for the rhythm of the waves. "So what else happened?"

Steve takes the last swig and drops his bottle to the sand. "I don't know what you mean."

Danny has the nerve to laugh. "Okay, right." He drops his bottle to rest in the sand next to Steve's and leans across the arm of his chair, close enough for Steve's arm hairs to tingle with warnings of personal-space encroachment.

And that right there should be a flashing-neon sign of how this is all fucking with Steve because since when have the two of them had limits on personal space?

When Steve continues to stare stoically into the distance, Danny continues. "Why can't you look at me?"

Steve doesn't look. Doesn't answer.

Danny leans back into his own chair, his own space, and Steve can hear him inhale deeply, hold it a few seconds and then exhale. It's his only warning.

"Look, Steve, if you and Joe are... together... I hope you know that I'm here for you, no mat-"

Steve's stomach actually roils and he turns to look at Danny so fast he'll probably have whiplash come morning. "What the fuck, Danny?"

"Steve-"

"Joe? God, Danny, he's like a father to me. I-" And Steve has no idea what to say next, he's so fucking freaked out that Danny would go there, would assume.

Danny holds up both hands, palms out. "Look, I'm sorry, man. Okay? Just..." He shakes his head, "It's none of my business, right? But you came home with someone's spunk on your vest, Steve. And you've refused to look me in the eye until just now. It doesn't really take a detective here, bud."

Steve looks back to the midnight blue of the Pacific. Now that they're closer, each wave is distinct, has its own sound, its own texture. He knows this will eat at Danny until he finds out the truth. He knows that it will sit like a scab in the back of his own mind, one that he picks and picks until he can never get the taste of Adam out of his mouth.

That's not what he wants.

"It's Adam Noshimuri's."

Danny's silent for so long that Steve gets worried and looks to his partner. Danny's mouth opens, then snaps shut again.

And now who's not looking at who.

Then Danny's moving and Steve is utterly confused. Danny picks up the empty beer bottles, stands and walks to the house without a word.

\---

Steve would be lying if he said he wasn't waiting for the unnatural roar of the Camaro's engine to rip through the organic island sounds surrounding him.

Danny leaving, too, then.

He leans forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, shaking like a leaf but refusing to acknowledge it. It's a few minutes later that it finally registers that he never actually heard what he'd been expecting.

He looks up to the house. Lights on, warm glow.

Steve's up and jogging for the back door before he even realizes. He pulls it open and calls out. "Danny?"

There's a moment of silence, just long enough to make Steve's spine stiffen and his mind fill the gap with self-loathing. Then a subdued, "In here," comes from the kitchen.

Steve steps to the threshold and pauses in the doorway. Danny's leaning against the counter, the empty beer bottles standing neatly in the porcelain sink next to him. His arms are across his chest, his eyes locked on Steve.

Steve has to force his own arms to stay down at his side and not cross defensively.

It's a full minute or two before Danny speaks. "Did- did he force you?"

Steve doesn't answer right away. He's not sure himself. "It was necessary to complete the mission."

Danny shifts then and his laugh is hollow. "Fuck you, Steve. You're not in a fucking warzone here - _there is no mission_." His face is red, his fists clenched at his sides. "You-" He cuts himself off and he's pacing now. Right up until he stops within inches of Steve. "You should have called me. I'm your partner." Danny's hands open and suddenly a finger is pressing insistently against Steve's chest. "You. Are not. Alone. In this."

Steve grabs Danny's poking finger, just like so long ago only it's not like that at all. This is Danny. His best friend. The best man he knows.

Steve's so angry; it runs so deep. Not at Danny, but at himself. At how far he's let this go, how out of control. How much he doesn't deserve anyone like Danny, anyone half as good.

Before he knows what he's done, he's not twisted Danny's arm like that first day, but pushed him against the wall, pressing his wrists against the plaster beside his head, plastering himself against the front of his partner, chest to thighs. "What, Danny? What? You wish it had been you?"

And isn't it interesting how Danny's breath hitches and he won't meet his eyes, how his gaze is focused lower, Steve's throat perhaps. "Not... not like that."

Steve tips his head forward. "Like how, then, Danny?"

They're so close, sharing air, sharing space, and when Danny raises his head and looks Steve in the eyes - it's clear. It's friendship and desire and desperation and sorrow and lust and joy and pain and _everything_ swirling in pools of the brightest blue.

And in that moment, Steve's _glad_ Joe left. Glad of it. Because it served well to prove that Steve can't trust the man. That the only man he knows now that he can trust 100% with anything is still standing right in front of him.

Such stark contrast.

Danny didn't leave. Danny stayed.

And Danny wants him. Wants him back.

Steve can't help but press closer, his grip on Danny's wrists sliding up until their fingers entwine and hold tight, his forearms pressing against Danny's against the wall. Their mouths are open and they're sharing breath, shaky inhales and stuttering exhales.

Danny's head tilts forward until their foreheads touch, damp skin against damp skin. "Like this," he whispers.

"Danny..." Steve turns his head slightly, his lips grazing along the stubble of Danny's cheek. "Please, Danny. Let me?" 

And it’s like that moment just before you break from under the surface of the water, lungs burning and you can already taste that first pure breath that you're going to pull in...  
   
Steve can feel Danny's lips moving against the shell of his ear when he says, "Anything, Steve. God."

It's like Steve can finally breathe, can finally move and feel and _be_.

He releases Danny’s left hand and trails his fingers down Danny’s arm, his shoulder, his neck, never losing contact until he can cup his cheek and brush a thumb across Danny’s lower lip. Danny’s tongue chases it, but Steve’s faster. He knows if he gives in now, he’ll likely kiss Danny and never be able to stop.

And right now… Steve knows it’s not right, knows it’s essentially _using_ Danny. But right now he needs the taste, the feel, the sounds of his partner to fill him up, to chase everything else away, to make him clean and whole.

He locks eyes as he starts to unbutton Danny’s shirt one-handed. Danny’s breathing has increased and his one free hand has come to rest on Steve’s hip, squeezing, his thumb rubbing circles through his t-shirt. It’s frustratingly slow, but Steve can’t bring himself to release Danny’s other hand, their grip on one another like a lifeline, maddeningly tight.

Danny must see something on Steve’s face – always reading his damn faces – and he starts encouraging Steve, “C’mon, babe. Want this. Always have. C’mon.” Little words and thoughts and phrases that soothe Steve and he knows he’s not alone in this, knows for a fact that he’s wanted.

And Steve loves Danny so much right now for knowing him so well. Knowing exactly what he needs and being so willing.

He gets the shirt open and pulled from Danny's waistband, sparing a moment to run his hand down Danny's chest. Steve licks his lips when Danny's stomach pulls in and jumps at his touch. He needs to taste that skin. With one last look in Danny's eyes and a squeeze to his hand, Steve goes gracefully to his knees and presses his face to the soft skin of Danny's belly. The hairs tickle his nose, tease his lips as Danny breathes and Steve nuzzles in, pulling Danny's waistband low, just inhaling deep and pure and _Danny_.

He pops the button on Danny's pants and lowers the zipper and the line of Danny's cock is clearly revealed, jerking underneath his boxers. Steve leans in and runs his lips along that line, pressing and pulling and wetting the cotton with his own hot exhalations.

"Fuck, Steve," Danny breathes out as Steve nibbles at the head, pulling at the fabric with his teeth.

"Danny." Steve raises his head to look up through his eyelashes. He tugs at the last barrier between them, but Danny's underwear is caught and his pants are still trying to cling to his hips. "Little help, D?" And then, such teamwork, Danny takes one side and Steve the other and just like that Danny is laid bare to him.

Long and hard and achingly beautiful, it's like a snapshot in Steve's mind, how this, how Danny, is all he sees. No one else exists. No one else has ever existed.

He takes a moment, strokes fingertips through the coarse hairs at the base and then along the silky skin, the large vein, the soft, plump head. Steve longs to squeeze his own straining cock, just to offer a bit of relief, but settles for squeezing Danny's hand instead, their fingers still entwined and pressing now against Danny's heaving ribcage.

"God, Danny," and that's all he can say, all he can think as he leans in and takes Danny's cock in his mouth, loving the feel of his lips stretching wide and sinking down as far as he can go.

"Mmngh," is about as coherent as Danny can seem to manage right now and it makes Steve smile as he pulls back again, laving the head and tracing down the sides with his tongue. He cups Danny's balls, massaging and pulling a little as he takes Danny fully again.

"Jesus, Steve." And Danny's voice, god, he sounds wrecked and Steve can't help but look up at him and moan. His partner is gorgeous, looking back at him with hooded eyes and open mouth, tongue darting out to wet his lips, and the sight is nearly Steve's undoing.

Danny's hand is in Steve’s hair and Steve wraps his larger one around it, locking his fingers in place and pulling - just enough that Danny gets the idea and tightens his hold, beginning to thrust lightly into Steve's mouth. Steve moans his approval and relaxes his throat, reflexively closing his eyes only to force them open again at the next sound out of Danny's mouth.

"Fuck, babe. Feels so good." Steve listens like he's never listened before, soaks in every word, every grunt, every gasp that Danny releases like it's honey dripping on his tongue. "Not gonna last much longer."

Steve grunts then, urging Danny on. He fists the base of Danny's cock and synchronizes his strokes with Danny's thrusts, the perfect counterpoint. He sucks hard, cheeks hollowing, tongue swirling, trying hard to convey with his eyes what his inner voice is chanting: _C'mon, Danny, c'mon._

A couple more bucks of Danny's hips and a strangled noise that Steve takes to be his name, and Danny's jerking hard before flooding Steve's mouth. Steve swallows every drop, watching Danny's chest heave, his head thrown back against the wall. He licks his lips before shifting his focus to Danny's still twitching cock, cleaning up every drop even when Danny pulls his hips back and mumbles at him that it's too much, too sensitive.

Steve rests his head against Danny's hip, lets himself enjoy the feeling of Danny's fingers still in his hair as his hand drops to his own lap and undoes his own pants, freeing himself. He squeezes the hand that's still holding Danny's as he fists himself.

"Babe," he hears and feels Danny slide down the wall. Danny's hand wraps around his around his cock and follows Steve's rhythm.

Steve's mouth opens - to say something? to breathe? Steve's not sure, but Danny presses in and licks between Steve's open lips, finding Steve's tongue and lightly thrusting against it. And that there. Tasting Danny's mouth, feeling him that intimately, sends Steve right over the edge, his come covering their hands, and even that seems to pale in the face of the fact that he's actually kissing Danny.

He finally untangles the hand that had been holding Danny's the whole time, relishing Danny's little whimper as they pull apart, but Steve just needs to touch Danny, cup his neck and keep him there with him, keep them connected like this forever.

"Not going anywhere, babe," Danny whispers against his lips.

"Please, D," Steve whispers back. "Need you."

"You got me, Steven." Danny pulls back just an inch and Steve feels the separation like it's a chasm. "Hey, hey," Danny strokes Steve's cheek. "You can't have that face this soon after an amazing orgasm, okay? Rule numero uno."

Danny's smile is contagious. "Sorry, Danno." Steve leans back in, capturing Danny's lips again.

"You okay?" Danny murmurs when they pull apart.

Steve nods. "I am now." He clambers to his feet, offering his hand to help Danny up. Danny's pants are around his ankles and Steve's are low on his hips; they're a sight to behold. They shift things back up temporarily, both knowing it's not likely to last for long.

"Hey," Danny starts, moving into Steve's space again, hand on his chest. "I meant what I said before. I'm your partner. No more running off like that, okay? If you'd had backup--"

"Got it, Danny," Steve cuts him off before he can go any further. Steve doesn't ever want to think about this night again beyond what's happened in the last several minutes in this very room. He thinks he's found a vacant compartment in his head strong enough to hold it and with one more kiss to Danny's lips, he mentally throws away the key.

He can’t pretend that the anger’s gone, that things are resolved, but he can rest assured in the knowledge that he’s not alone in this, or in anything, anymore.

_fin_  


Comments are ♥.  
.:.


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